3.09.2010

El ídolo / José Antonio Ramos Sucre

The Idol

The beauty threatened with her brow when she noticed my refusal to one of her whims. I backtracked from my decision adding complaisant and affectionate attentions. I feared accelerating the unraveling of her sorrows. That very night she succumbed in a crisis of delirium. Once more she was narrating, in impassioned terms, the misfortunes of her childhood and adolescence. I awoke at the foot of her oaken bed. I walk tirelessly through the chambers of my ancient house, demure in the elusiveness of a sierra. Only the roof of a vigilant tower remains. I refuse to return to the world and I scorn the invitations of my friends. I wish to reconstruct the situation of that nefarious day’s mood and the sterile gesture of drawing her inert head to my chest.